Lost & Found
by Jango27
Summary: The five times a member of the team finds a familiar face in the most unexpected circumstances. Because the spy's world is too small, and they're too involved to ever fully disappear (and I love these characters too much to let them go).
1. Chapter 1- Daisy

**Helloo people!**

 **It's been a while since I've posted for AoS, but this is something I've been working on for a while now. Along with everyone I was horrified when I learned that Marvel was dropping not only Agent Carter but the chance for Bobbi and Hunter to have their own show. While what the writers were saying at Comic con has actually given me a lot of hope, this was just my way of giving some of my favourite characters the futures they deserved.**

 **As always, I own nothing of this amazing (yet sometimes heartbreakingly maddening) show.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 _Chapter One: Daisy_

[Fargo, North Dakota.

Three months after Lincoln's death.]

There're moments- quite a few now, if she's honest with herself- where Daisy simply has no idea how her life has come to this. Only a few years ago, she'd been relentlessly pursuing dead-end leads on the redacted words that made up her past, completely convinced that the answers she'd wanted were being intentionally hidden by military figures in black suits and ties. Back then the boundaries were simple, everything clear cut and easy. The government kept secrets they had no right to keep. Information belonged to everyone, not just those with the security clearance to read it. That sort of thinking had made the Rising Tide such a tempting opportunity; people who shared the same thoughts and possessed the same skills, a family for anyone who'd never had one.

Sometimes Daisy looks back at the girl who'd believed those things- back at _Skye_ \- and thinks despite outside appearances of a decrepit van and the dysfunctional relationships, just how good her life had been.

But she wouldn't go back to it. Not for a million years.

Skye was a nobody. Just a hacker desperately trying to make a difference.

As Quake, at least that's what she was finally able to achieve.

( _The trick was to ignore what she'd lost in the process_.)

She'd been in North Dakota for almost a week now, pursuing… well, pursuing _something_. She'd received a tip from a slightly-less-than-reliable source claiming that there was a facility in Fargo that had been racking in massive amounts of profit; money that obviously didn't fit within the manufacturing of hospital equipment it was claiming.

Daisy would have to be more careful about what sources she trusted from now on. Although the info on the time and place of the exchange was good, her old Rising Tide contact had failed to mention the sheer number of guards assigned to ensure its success. It was stupid of her to forget really; she had no one left anymore. Everyone she loved, well…

 _(His weak, breathless laugh crackles through the comms." Oh, I dunno, saving the girl I love and the world at the same time? Seems pretty right to me.")_

It'd been an accident, not matter what any of the newspapers were saying. She hadn't meant to take out the entire bridge. Just the convoys carrying the illegally-produced weapons. She'd lost control (something that happened all too easy these days). She'd lost control, and everything had _crumpled._

Those that had been left standing had ran at the sight of her shaking hands, hands that she curled into fists in an effort to contain her anger and the rolling, thrumming power Daisy could feel deep in her bones. There'd been an instant, where the sight of the men running away had been a reminder of all the friends she'd lost: Coulson, Fitzsimmons, May and Mack.

But that hadn't been right. Those were the one's she'd chosen to leave behind. The one's she'd abandoned.

The others were just dead.

Her mother- father as well, for all intents and purposes.

Lincoln.

God, she just _kept losing people, when would she stop losing people?_

And, with the thousand emotions that thought released, the world around her had exploded.

The newspapers showed scenes of the collapsed bridge, the destruction cutting through the cliff sides like bleeding wounds. They blasted the image of her hooded figure propelling herself out of the newly-formed ravine- a skill she'd only so recently learned, with an almost horrifying sense of satisfaction- the unconscious forms of the guards slung precariously over her shoulder and scrutinized the intentions of the unknown inhuman.

But they hadn't caught a glimpse of her face. That was probably the only reason she hadn't been arrested yet. Or why SHIELD hadn't caught up with her.

That being said, Daisy's current situation wasn't exactly promising.

The likeness they had in the photos was enough to prompt local police to put the entire city in lockdown. There were blockades at every road out of Fargo, her outline on every television. The media, no doubt at the strong-arming of some larger authority, encouraged doubts at the agenda of Quake and the resulting fear had had the exact desired effects: every citizen had promptly turned into a paranoid observer, one determined to find anything outside of the ordinary, and Daisy had been- all puns intended, she supposed- alienated.

Alienated, with absolutely nowhere to go.

Making her way casually down the pavement, Daisy forces a calm to her steps that she certainly doesn't feel in her quickening heart. She doesn't dare put up her hood, for fear that will draw unwanted comparison, but she's getting desperate. She needs a place to law low and gather her bearings before SHIELD gets here, but can't buy a motel room for the trail her fake ID will leave for when they do. There'd be plenty of empty warehouses in the industrial sector that she can rest in, but that's still a long way to walk with an decreasingly short amount of time.

She's just in the middle of debating with breaking into one of the apartments she's sure must be empty, when someone bumps into her shoulder. It's not particularly hard, but the pavements empty enough for it to be nothing but intentional, and Daisy's heart beats solidly in her chest. Her hands, shaking slightly, clench at her side almost unconsciously, but the figure continues walking for a few paces as if nothing had happened. It's a woman, with light brown hair that falls softly down her back. She doesn't move around to fully face Daisy, but swiftly turns her head slightly before inclining it in what can only mean 'follow me'.

And there's something- something in her height, her posture, the way she walks- that's familiar. And maybe it's for that reason, or merely because she just outright doesn't have any other options, but Daisy finds herself following.

 _Surely… Surely, it couldn't be-_

The woman continues walking a few paces ahead, hands in the pockets of her jumper, pace measured and easy. She doesn't look back once to make sure her instructions had been heeded. Daisy is following her closely though, all the while feeling a sense of hope that burns in her chest in a way she hasn't felt in a long time.

After only a short time, they arrive at a stretch of small, adjoined apartments, identical from the outside in what can only occur in the outskirts of large cities. The woman leads her to the fourth house in. Instead of hunting for a key, she punches a 7-digit code into a pad that's only visible from this close distance. It's getting late now, but the setting sun provides just enough light for Daisy to easily see the sequence of numbers that opens the door with a soft click. The woman hadn't bothered trying to shield it with her body; was that her way of showing trust?

Or maybe she thinks she's simply going to kill her, so it doesn't matter keeping the passcode secret.

(There's a part of her, not as small as Daisy would like, that itches for this woman to try, _just try_.)

The hallway they enter is well-lit, bright and inviting. Despite it, Daisy walks in hesitantly, hating the boxed-in feeling the walls create despite the open door behind her.

There's a sudden pause, then-

"Bobbi? That you?"

Daisy hears the woman snort. "Who else would it be, Hunter?"

"You never know- and you're the one always yacking on at me being more careful!" There's no mistaking that British accent. With her heart lightening in her chest, Daisy slowly feels a smile stretch across her face- God when was the last time she'd had something to properly smile about?

Well, she knows that answer to that, of course.

She can practically hear the smirk in Bobbi's voice as the ex-agent answers back, "and yelling my name across the house is your idea of being careful?"

Hunter's voice carries across swiftly. "Oh shut up, you hell beast. Here I was worried 'bout you."

All air of mystery gone, Bobbi finally turns around. "Good to see you, Daisy," she says with a grin.

* * *

What follows next are several of the most unexpected hours Daisy has had in a long time. It's obvious this small flat isn't exactly lived in, with the sparse amount of furniture and lack of any fresh food, but with what they do have Hunter throws together to make a more-than-acceptable dinner, occasionally butting into the conversation where Daisy and Bobbi are sitting at the small, wooden table.

It's almost domestic, and slightly unnerving, but it's nice… more than nice.

Daisy slowly feels herself unwind under the ongoing banter Bobbi and Hunter throw at each other. It's been close to six months that Daisy had last seen the rogue agents, and the sense of familiarity they bring is nothing short of a welcome distraction from the last few months alone.

At some point early on, Hunter turns to her and says, "alright, I'm just gonna bite the bullet here-proverbial, of course, love," he smirks at Bobbi, then turns back to where Daisy's sitting, "but were you going for a completely terrifying goth look here?" He gestures to her hair, which Daisy had let grow out past her shoulders and dyed black. "I mean, the hair, sure, I can understand, but the fishnet gloves? Really?"

Bobbi's eyes slowly turn contemplative though, and Daisy knows it'll only be a matter of time before she looks for answers. Sure enough, with a timing that only comes from communication without the need for words, Hunter mutters an excuse about checking the outside security and leaves the room.

With a sigh, Bobbi crosses over to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. Her face brightens considerably, and she draws back with two cans of Cactus Cooler gripped in her hand. She tosses one over to Daisy, before popping the tap on her own and taking a long, drawn-out gulp. "Hunter managed to find a couple of these at a shop 'round the corner," Bobbi says conversationally.

"That's how you know it's real," Daisy jokes, opening her own can with a soft click, but leaving it on the table, absently spinning the drink between her hands. "You guys going strong then?" she asks. Her voice is light, and Daisy congratulates herself at being able to mask any of the resentment she feels.

Bobbi grins, the blue of her eyes brightening in the light of the kitchen. "Turns out being on the run from anyone and everything is quite the romance builder."

Daisy forces the smile she knows is expected, but it falls quickly off her face. Her initial joy at seeing the two ex-agents has faded slightly with the conversation she knows is coming next. Sitting forward, she placed her hands flat on the table. Immediately there's a thrumming vibration through her fingertips, a shifting sort of power that aligns with her heartbeat, drumming through her veins. It calms her, knowing the endless supply of energy she could tap into; it gives her the strength she needs to talk first. "I know you want to know why I'm not with SHIELD."

Bobbi slumps back into her seat, eyeing Daisy with an intense stare. "Leaving those guys was the hardest thing I've had to do- Hunter too, from what I can tell. Made us wonder what could've happened that made you do it so willingly."

Daisy, despite herself, scoffs. Willingly? That would seem to imply some form of agreement. And there was _nothing_ that had occurred three months ago that Daisy had agreed to.

"It wasn't willingly."

Bobbi raises an eyebrow. Her expression's hard, and instantly Daisy knows she's imagining a situation similar to the one months ago, where the changes within SHIELD had almost split the organization in two, with Daisy teetering uncertainly over the precipice. "No?"

Daisy hesitates, knowing full well that Bobbi is fishing for answers, and yet obviously doesn't want to resort to the various tactics that make her such a proficient interrogator. She wants Daisy to trust her, the way she did all those months ago; the way she did when they stood back-to-back in the building in Siberia, hunted by a seemingly invulnerable shadow. God, how much has changed since then? How many things did Bobbi and Hunter not know about? Surely, when they did, Bobbi wouldn't be nearly so eager to hold Daisy's trust when she found out the whole story.

"Lincoln's dead."

And there they are, there are the words that destroy her, the words that she repeats to herself, every night, as a reminder of why she can't go back, why she won't ever go back, _because he won't be there._

And that might be an undoubtedly selfish thought, especially considering the undoubtable argument that Lincoln would've wanted her to carry on, but the Secret Warriors; that was a dream she'd wanted them to share and, without him, it suddenly seemed to hold no appeal.

So yeah, it might just be the most selfish thing Daisy's done. Lincoln had always been the most selfless one anyway.

Bobbi's eyes are wide. "Daisy…" she breathes, looking to the door, and it's easy to see on her face that she's thinking about Hunter, about what she would do without him. "Daisy, I'm so sorry."

Reflexively, Daisy shakes her head, rejecting Bobbi's sympathy when she simply doesn't deserve any. "Don't be. It was my fault."

"That's not true."

Bobbi's answer was immediate, and Daisy fixes her with a harsh glare. "You don't know anything about it."

"I don't need to. I just know you."

The amount of faith Bobbi has in her, contrary to what the ex-agent had probably wanted, sparks a flash of anger and suddenly Daisy's on her feet and her hands are fisted at her sides as the ground gives a threatening tremble.

And Bobbi just sits there.

Taking a sip of her drink, Bobbi lounges back in her chair, seemingly perfectly relaxed in the face of the potential disaster that could rip apart her kitchen. Bobbi's eyes though, they're scrutinizing; Daisy has no idea what for, but after a few tense seconds the ex-agent sighs, leaning forward to the table and frowning up at the Inhuman's imposing form.

"You've forgotten, Daisy," Bobbi starts, "that I was there when you first got your powers. I saw how scared you were of who you could become and I saw you make the choice to help people." She reaches to the side of the table, pulling back a small stack of newspapers, each blaring the headline and image of Quake; the new unknown inhuman, or the recent destruction she'd caused at the bridge. "I'm just trying to figure out if Quake has the same ideals."

Quake. Daisy doesn't even know where that name came from; it was just suddenly coined by some small bulletin a few months back. It's fitting though, she supposes; a force of nature that comes without warning, leaving only destruction in its wake. All the same, Daisy narrows her eyes. "You think I'm not doing good things? You think they," she gestures towards the papers, "didn't deserve any of it?"

"I'm sure they probably did, but that's a dangerous line, Daisy. There's a reason the world fears vigilantes; a lot of people aren't seeing what you're doing in the same way you are."

"Well maybe I don't care what other people think."

"Don't you see? Don't you get how dangerous that is? Confidence to believe in yourself when others don't is one thing, but distancing yourself completely?" Bobbi shakes her head vehemently, "forget your abilities, Daisy; it's that way of thinking that labels you as Inhuman."

And it's that- that accusation of her isolation, regardless of how completely true and self-imposed it is- that suddenly seems to drain all the anger and energy from Daisy's limbs. Exhausted and swaying slightly on her feet, she staggers and falls gracelessly back into her chair. Her hands are shaking again- but for entirely different reasons now. "I can't go back," she breathes, "not after what happened; not after what I did."

Bobbi's far too smart to ask for any clarification, but Daisy can practically see her mind working; knows that the ex-agent is thinking through the sources she surely still has to find out just what the hell Daisy's talking about. For now, though, Bobbi remains quiet, watching with careful eyes, which Daisy appreciates. There hasn't been anyone she could just vent to and the emotions that she's been keeping so carefully locked down are spewing out at an alarming rate.

"The great thing," Bobbi says slowly, carefully, "about all your friends being agents, is that they know what it's like to have everything out of your control."

Daisy lets out a breath through her teeth. "I… that's the thing. I don't know how much it was… me… and how much was what that _thing_ was making me feel." She's well aware of how absolutely ridiculous that will sound to Bobbi, who has no idea about Hive or his powers over other Inhumans. But she can't bring herself to explain it now, and Bobbi shows no sign of needing clarification. Honestly, Daisy muses, she's probably figured most of it out already. Damn perceptive agents.

"Look, Daisy," Bobbi starts, sitting forward in her chair. "I can understand why you'd want to run. Especially after having lost Lincoln… God, I can understand wanting to just get away. But are you sure that _this_ ," she gestures again to the newspapers, "is what you want? It's a lonely life."

Daisy looks up, throwing the question back at her, "is it?"

Bobbi waves a dismissive hand. "Hunter and I only need each other. Believe me, it's a blessing and a curse."

Daisy can understand that. Having had three months to live with Lincoln's death, she gets the fear of being bound so closely to someone. It was a risky game in any circumstance- but practically playing with fire with their sort of lifestyle. Bobbi and Hunter though, they'd already been burnt, had the scars to prove it, and yet come out of it all the stronger.

That was the bond forged in fire. Those were the people you could never truly lose.

And Daisy suddenly felt horribly, irreparably alone.

"I've got some things to take care of first," she says in a low voice, struggling to keep emotions off her face, "some promises I need to keep."

Bobbi raises an eyebrow. "And then?"

"And then…" Daisy trails off, " _then_ , I'll think about it."

It's a brush off, to say the least, but it's the best she can do without outright lying. And, like always, Bobbi seems to understand that.

* * *

Daisy's gone by the time they wake up. The blankets and pillows Hunter had scrounged from a dark cupboard were neatly folded and stacked at the end of the couch they'd offered her for the night. The dishes they'd left had been washed and now lay drying in a rack that Bobbi didn't even know they had. There was practically no evidence that another person had stayed there at all, except for a phone number hastily scrawled on a scrap piece of paper, as if the writer had decided to leave it only at the last second.

Still though, the fact that she left it makes Bobbi's chest lighten.

Hunter takes in the kitchen with wide eyes. "Bloody hell, this is cleaner than when we first bought this place."

Bobbi doesn't answer, but a smile is still tugging at her lips as she folds Daisy's number in half and tucks it into her bra. She knows what Daisy's offering here; she's giving her the chance to alert SHIELD to her whereabouts, letting her make the decision about whether or not to bring Quake in. The agent in Bobbi wants to but it's the other part, the one she doesn't let herself listen to all that often, that made her stop.

Daisy had been forged from SHIELD's ideals and while that was good in a thousand different ways, she should be allowed to find out who Quake was by herself.

Hunter comes up from behind her, crossing his arms across her chest and pulling Bobbi back into his embrace. He doesn't do this very often, arguing that it gives her the perfect opportunity to highlight their height difference, and Bobbi feels herself relax into the warmth his body provides.

"What did you guys talk about last night?" he asks, his voice tickling her ear.

Bobbi brings up a hand and threads it through the short strands of Hunter's hair. "Just reminding her of what she was leaving behind."

He's silent for a moment, then, "you think they miss us more than her?"

Bobbi rolls her eyes and pulls away, "not the point here, Hunter."

"I know that! I just reckon you and I made so much less trouble. I mean, remember the amount it cost to get the Playground refurbished after that first earthquake debacle? When did we ever cause that much mess?"

Bobbi disappears into the bedroom, emerging again a few seconds later with their two large rucksacks. She throws one to Hunter with a slight grimace- she'd been putting a lot of strain on her left shoulder lately, and Hunter knows she's aggravated that old injury despite her repeated assurances. "I think Daisy whines a whole lot less than _some_ people," she answers.

Hunter grins. "I know, May was getting really sick of your attempts at girl talk." Chuckling at the glare she sends him, he looks down at the bag in his hands. "We're out of here already?"

"You know we can't stay. SHIELD will be here by now and we can't risk being seen with them."

Hunter shrugs one strap onto his shoulder. "I know, love, I just thought we could sneak a look at everyone, see if Mack's got his designs sorted for that shotgun axe he was telling us 'bout a while back."

Bobbi shoots him a look, but it's not filled with irritation now, but rather a myriad of emotions that do nothing but tell him how much she wants that too. "We can't do that," she says, her voice soft.

"I know we can't, Bob," he replies, bridging the distance between them and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. "But we will one day." His eyes are unwavering in their belief, and Bobbi nods.

They leave the apartment only minutes later.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! I'm not entirely pleased with how this chapter is in several places, but I also want to have this done before Season 4 is released and with how long I take to update, that's not that much time!**

 **But yeah, thank you again, if you could leave a review telling me what you think or what you'd like to see in the next few chapters, that'd be amazing.**

 **Also, I've recently posted a story for Agent Carter. It basically follows season 1 from that episode in Russia, but with one very significant red-headed difference ;) If you have the time to please check that out too, I'd appreciate it infinitely.**

 **Thank you!**

 **-F**


	2. Chapter 2- May

**Wow, so it's been over 6 months since I published this story, which is crazy 'cos I swear it wasn't that long! I can actually remember saying I wanted to have it done before season 4 came out.**

 **Man, I make myself laugh sometimes.**

 **So so sorry about the wait, guys, but hopefully there's still some people willing to read this! I still haven't nearly gotten over Bobbi and Hunter leaving, so I'm really really hoping something will change in the next half of season 4! I've got some ideas planned out for the next chapter of this story which could tie in with the more recent events on the show, so hopefully an update won't be nearly as long this time, haha.**

 **If you could leave a review telling me what you think, it'd be amazing, but thank you regardless for reading!**

 _Chapter Two: May_

[Ottawa, Canada.

Four months after Andrew's death.]

It was a small headstone, marbled white, etched in a neat, black font. There was no shortage of brightly-coloured flowers, fresh despite the frigid air and time that had passed since the burial.

 _Andrew Todd Garner._

 _1963-2016_

 _'_ _The happiness of the other man is essential to our own'_

His sister had chosen that quote, something May had appreciated and hated with equal measure- appreciated because she had such little experience for profound words of wisdom and love; hated, well… for obvious reasons.

But she knew something Andrew's sister didn't, not that it was anything to be proud of. More the opposite really. But it was fitting, May supposed, considering all the secrets they'd had in their relationship.

What was one more lie in a sea of deception?

The grave was empty.

The body, as far as the world was considered, had been buried forever in this graveyard near where Andrew had grown up. There'd been a funeral for his family and close friends; a memorial at the university for the large amounts of people he'd encountered in his career. May had attended both, but remained at the back, relying on the shadows and dark corners to remain inconspicuous. She didn't belong there, and she wasn't needed there. Let Andrew's family grieve without the shadowy figure of his ex-wife hovering in the background.

No one had questioned the weight of the empty coffin- why would they? They had no need to; absolutely no comprehension of the secrets Andrew had been involved with, both within SHIELD and out. To them, Andrew was simply a man taken too early in an unfortunate accident.

His inhuman genes, the true nature of his death, the cremation of his body- a measure taken to prevent any astute observer from extracting the nature of his DNA- were things known to very few.

And as far as May was concerned, they'd stay that way. Andrew Garner would remain someone who was simply too good for this world.

 _("What was that about?" Melinda motions her head towards the open office door, where only seconds ago she'd watched a woman, only slightly older than her 35 years, run out of with tears pouring down her face and sobbing into her hand._

 _Her husband stands from his chair, the cracked leather protesting this release, and slowly makes his way over to where she stands. He plants a soft kiss to her hair._

 _She knows he won't give her a proper answer, but Andrew's secrets are far less malicious than her own, far more necessary too._

 _"_ _New client," he eventually replies, and sure enough, there's the small black book on his desk, open to show a page filled with black scrawls and notes._

 _"_ _She looked pretty upset."_

 _Andrew backs away a few steps, and it's immediately apparent that there's a weight hanging from his shoulders, an emotion that's dragging him down and curling his shoulders inward. She hates to see him like this, when for a few moments the burdens of his job simply become too much to bear._

 _It's only ever for a second though. Then he's collected, focused, determined to help others._

 _"_ _She would be," he says, "her husband just died."_

 _Ah. May swallows. "Was it sudden?"_

 _Andrew nods. "Very."_

 _There's a silence then, filled with things unable to be said and emotions not fully expressed. They've never actually talked about it; about the possibility that Melinda might not come back one day, but she knows he's thought about it, in the same way she's spent sleepless nights bracing herself for a time when he might not be lying next to her._

 _He has it worse though, because surely- surely- the chance that his fears will come true are far more likely. Odds are, he'll outlive her, and some selfish part of her revels in that.)_

She breathes out a sigh, hugging herself within her jacket despite the warmth from the afternoon sun. There's no one waiting for back at the motel room, but she should be getting back all the same. Coulson's expecting a call from her and the last thing she wants to do is add worry to his already precarious frame of mind, what with the talk of a change in leadership hanging over their heads and the ever-present worry over Daisy.

She should be getting back. God only knows how long she's just been standing here. She should-

"As far as it goes, this is a nice place to be buried."

May whirls around, her hand automatically reaching for the familiar weight of the gun at her hop. An instant later though, she stills, because through the fog clouding her brain the voice suddenly registers.

"Hunter," she says, fighting to keep the surprise out of her voice. But in that single word she acknowledges a man she wouldn't've thought she'd see again.

She hears his footsteps tread softly over the grass until together they stand, looking down at Andrew's grave in a companionable silence.

"Where's Bobbi?" May asks, at a loss as to what else to say.

"Toronto. I was here meeting some old mates when one of them mentioned a local professor who'd died. Didn't take long to figure out it was the same man I knew."

May accepts those words with another silence, and Hunter doesn't push for a response, instead kneeling down and placing his palm over the engraved words of Andrew's name. He murmurs a few words, too quiet for May to make out.

It's a touching gesture from a man May knows doesn't care to show loss and grief all too often. The exception to that, of course, had come at the time when the woman he'd loved and scorned with equal measure had saved him from a bullet to the head; when Bobbi had been bleeding out and choking on her breath in his arms.

That has been the only moment May has ever seen Hunter truly lost. Even in that bar all those months ago, with farewells only possible in the burn of tequila down their throats, he'd had Bobbi by his side. Seemingly, that was all these two needed to survive.

May almost wanted to scream at them at how idiotic that was.

Instead, swallowing harshly, she asked, "is it safe for you to be in Canada?"

Hunter rises to his feet, taking a moment to dust off his knees. "You're kidding right?" he says with a grin, "if there ever was a country where two people trying desperately not to look like bloodthirsty ex-agents can hide, it's the place of pacifists." His eyes drift to the tombstone before them, and the smile falters slightly. "Nowhere is really safe, we've found, but we had some things to sort out."

"Is that what Bobbi's doing? Sorting things out?"

"Yeah, in a manner of speaking. At the risk of sounding like a bloody James Bond hero, but the less you know the better." Another pause, as his attempt at levity falls flat between them. "We would've both come back if you'd wanted."

Just as she'd remembered, Hunter's words are a sharp contrast sarcasm to plain-spoken opinion; it'd been one of the reasons she'd taken so long to warm to the merc, thinking him unprofessional and blunt. And it was one of the reasons for her sharp retort.

"I didn't want it."

"Oh right," Hunter's voice takes on an edge, "because no one could ever come close to the Cavalry, less she reveal some deep, dark emotion she doesn't want the rest of the world to see."

May blinks, wondering as to why his anger was so quick to surface. Surely things weren't in edge with him and Bobbi, not from how he'd talked about her only moments earlier. Grief about Andrew would be the obvious choice then. But somehow May has the sense that Hunter's anger is without real direction, more at the situation rather than an individual.

And it's with the sudden flash of something akin to regret in his eyes that May comes to understand. He's angry because he wasn't there; he's angry because him and Bobbi- undoubtedly some of the best agents SHIELD had seen- had been completely in the dark when their friends were desperate.

No one could've foreseen the situation with Hive, Lash, Daisy and Lincoln, but that didn't take away from the fact that Bobbi and Hunter hadn't even had the option to do anything about it.

And May was all too aware of how it felt to be useless, whether there was any truth to it or not.

"I didn't know how to help Bobbi after she got shot," Hunter says suddenly, "she was just so angry at herself for not being able to fight or shoot, or for barely being able to walk. And she was frightened too, God, I could tell, not that she'd ever say anything. I mean," he scoffs, running a hand over his closely-shaven head, "we were closer than we'd ever been during those months and yet she barely talked to me about that stuff, you know? The best I ever got was her to agree to go see Andrew." He looks back up at May, and his voice is as soft as she's ever heard it when he says, "she always came back from those sessions a little more calm, a little more in control of herself despite the crap she was dealing with. I'll always be grateful for that. Hope you understand."

She did. Of course she did. How many times had Andrew saved her?

 _("I know what you're doing, Melinda, and it's not going to work. I know the things you've done, I see the things you've had to do, but I see so much more as well.")_

 _(He holds her close, her head to his chest, and almost unconsciously her hands come around to grip at his shirt with a frightening strength._

 _"_ _It's alright," he whispers into her hair, pressing soft kisses to her head," it's alright, I love you.")_

 _("Marry me.")_

With little warning, May spins on her heels and heads for the carpark. Her steps are purposeful, direct, but her mind's a whirlwind of disastrous emotions she doesn't know how to calm.

She used to be able to talk about what was troubling her. What if she'd lost that forever along with him?

Frantic footsteps follow her. "May, hold up- wait-". No, she's had enough for one day.

"May, we saw Daisy."

She stops. And turns. And waits for him to explain.

"She needed a place to crash. Fortuitously, we had a safe house in the same place," he pulls a scrap piece of paper from his pocket, "she left us this. Bobbi's gonna give me hell for taking it, so you better do something useful with it, yeah? It's a few weeks old but it should still give you some indication of where she is."

May looks down at the scribbled numbers, sees the series of numbers in scrawled handwriting that could only belong to one person

A phone number. _Daisy's_ number.

She looks up, and Hunter shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Last I overheard, Daisy mentioned she was looking for someone. A mother and daughter, last name Hinton. Any idea who they are?"

May curls her hand around the piece of paper and nods. She remembers Charles Hinton, the homeless man with inhuman genes and glimpses into the future that landed him in so much trouble in the first place. She hadn't known about his family, but if he'd said anything about them to Daisy, of course the girl would want to ensure their safety.

Of course she would.

Hunter huffs at her silence. "Alright love, I need to get going anyway, but I'm always glad to be of service. See you in another six months, yeah?"

And with that, the ex-agent walks away, moving further into the graveyard despite the only exit being the other way.

And after a few moments, Daisy's number flashing through her head along with her almost certain next location, May leaves too.

But she keeps the graveyard to her back. It's almost easier that way.

* * *

 **So, not quite as long as the last chapter, but I really did want to give some closure to May and Andrew's relationship. If you have any comments, or any ideas for future character's chapters, they'd be completely welcome!**

 **Coulson's chapter next :)**

 **Thank you!**

 **-F**


	3. Chapter 3- Coulson

**YO! No I haven't forgotten about this story, despite all outward appearances.**

 **This chapter's been sitting on my laptop for bout a year or so? I'm not happy with it al at all, and it's really freakin short but I was having a look at all my unfinished/unpublished stories and thought, you know what? Who cares. So hey.**

 **So, there's a huge amount of creative liberty taken with this chapter. But the Framework was such a crucial part of Season 4 that I just wanted to do something to address it (and I have no idea what the hell happened in the finale, so I don't even wanna try tackle that :p).**

 **I've written it with the idea that Bobbi and Hunter had no idea about the real world/framework distinction, they're simply a pair of agents in the resistance, same as the Patriot. I figured that if Coulson's minds and everything that happened as a result could conjure up Trip (oh Trip…still sad) then surely these two would still be there somewhere…**

 **Next thing, part of this format is based around the concept that the Framework can kinda rewrite itself (those error/reset thingies) if it senses some sort of understanding that its fake. Obviously, this is something that couldn't've happened in the show, but I'm just gonna boil this down to the fact that it's to do with just Coulson; no one else interfering, no other interactions, just one person's experience. Also its relatively new, so AIDA could still be figuring out the kinks? I dunno… Basically, it's just my way of dealing with the huge plot hole that this chapter would create- also the fact that even after extensive research and watching the show multiple times, I still have noooo idea about the science behind the Framework. If there's something wrong, or if you have any thoughts about this, PLEASE leave a comment! I'd really like to talk about what happened with someone!**

...

 _Chapter Three: Coulson_

[Unknown Location, The Framework]

Unknown Time]

His entire life has been a routine. And he revels in it.

He wakes up in the morning, does his teeth, gets changed, goes to work, comes home, cooks dinner, marks any papers he has, and is in bed by 10.

If someone was to ask, he'd have no real answer as to what he does in his free time. Because he never has free time. His days are funny like that, like the hours pass to quickly or where he skips the moments in between. Coulson doesn't know where the time goes, but he knows he doesn't mind. It's intriguing, is all, almost like something's trying to make him-

-/error/-

His entire life is a routine, and it's simpler this way.

He studied history at college, specializing in military. He writes several papers on the heroics of Steve Rogers, a man he's admired since his father introduced him to the character. His writings are received positively, professors remarking on his extraordinary ability to connect with the events of the past in such an accurate, yet emphatic, way. There's only really one person who has criticism, and even this comes in the form of a warning:

Stop asking questions about Steve Rogers and the illusive agency he supposedly worked for.

Hydra is everywhere.

And so instead, Coulson becomes a teacher.

He wants to connect with students, make them passionate and as eager about history as he was, as he is. It's a long-held opinion of his that education is a privilege, one that is frequently taken for granted. He wants to make a difference, a change- even if it's only to a small group of inattentive teenagers- and this is the only way he knows how.

(It's not supposed to be this way. This is wrong this isn't his life-)

-/error/reset-

His entire life is a routine, until the day it isn't.

The bell ending the last class of the day has just rung, and in typical fashion the room has emptied in mere moments; the students drawn to the blue sky and sun shining outside.

He's just in the middle of packing up his own bag when there's a knock at the door. He turns. And blinks.

It's a woman, blonde, notably tall, dressed casually in a pair of jeans, boots and a leather jacket. She's smiling in greeting, but there's something- in the glint of intelligence in her eyes, in the way her gaze immediately flicks over to survey the classroom- which has him hesitating. All of a sudden, Coulson's painfully aware of just how empty the room is.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asks, snapping shut the clasp on his bag and forcing himself to stand tall.

"I hope so," the woman approaches him quickly, smiling softly, extending a hand for him to shake. He grips it tightly, noting how her skin is rough with callouses. "I had a few questions that I'd hoped you could answer."

Huh. That was unexpected.

"About history? I'm just a high school teacher, Miss, I'm sure there'd be someone down at the university far more knowledgeable-"

The woman interrupts him with a wave of her hand. "No, it has to be you."

At that, Coulson stills, caution mixed with a healthy amount of fear rushing through his veins. He struggles to find a way to respond, some way to wrap his mind around it, but then the woman's eyes fix on the blackboard behind him- or more specifically, on the topics of his latest class.

 _Cause and Effect: civil instability and its roots in Hydra's creation._

 _How SHIELD promoted the Inhuman Plague._

She raises an eyebrow, stating simply, "fun topics."

It takes a while for Coulson to formulate an answer, something akin to defensiveness- though why he feels the need to state his reasoning is beyond him- sharpening his words. "They're the topics the Board insists upon."

The woman gives a wry smile. "Of course."

Her tone irks something in him. "I'm sorry, you said there was something I could help you with?"

"Oh right," the woman seems to remember, though Coulson suspects she'd rarely be capable of forgetting anything. She reaches into her pocket, draws out a single photograph and tosses it onto an empty desk between them. "I was wondering if you could help me by analyzing this."

Coulson hesitates, before stepping forward to gingerly pick it up.

At first he doesn't recognize it, but then a memory comes back to him, of forgotten library books and dark corners. He'd first stumbled upon something similar when researching his thesis, had first come across this man's name and face by complete accident.

He'd been smart enough then to put that book down, to back away, and to never look for it again. It was that same voice in his mind again now, screaming at him that the man in this photo was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Coulson's eyes flick upward. "This would help you?" he questions.

The woman's smile is wry. "Well… some friends of mine need this information. But helping them would be helping me, so yeah, I guess I'm included in there somewhere."

He stares back down at the photo again. "I'm afraid I can't help you," he says quietly.

"Yes, you can," she insists. Stepping closer, her eyes are an intense and inescapable blue. "You could help me. You know it."

Coulson takes a step forward, opening his mouth to-

To what? To ask further questions? To ask why the hell this woman's here or why there's a part of his mind, quietly urgent, that's telling him that he should know her?

But then his door slams open, and he's fully prepared to suddenly find himself face to face with a Hydra enforcer, here to arrest him for crimes against the government, but instead a man races through, his face set in fierce determination and eyes alert and ready. "Bob, Bob we've gotta go. Right now."

The woman scowls. "We've got a few minutes, just let me get this."

"Ah, yeah no, we're going, even if I have to drag you out."

The woman groans, but starts moving regardless. With a swift movement, she plucks the photo from Coulson's hand and stuffs it into her back pocket. "What the hell did you do?" she asks, glaring towards where the man stands by the windows, scanning the view outside.

"Me?! The hell makes you immediately think I screwed something up?!"

"Because we were supposed to have at least ten minutes before anyone realized we were here."

"Yeah well, take that up with Mace and his shit briefing."

They're both by the door, seemingly just before they're about to leave, when the woman looks back, as if just remembering he's still here.

"Sorry Mr. Coulson," she says, "duty calls, you know how it is. We'll be in touch."

And Goddamn it if there isn't some part of his brain screaming at him that yes, yes, he does know exactly how that is.

He takes a step forward, but the man turns back then, grabbing her by the hand.

"Bobbi, come on, we need to go now."

Barbara Morse.

Bobbi.

And Hunter.

"Hey, wait-"

-/error/-

-/error/reset/-

His entire life is a routine. And it will never change.


End file.
